


never felt like a princess

by Anonymous



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Confrontations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It was bound to happen eventually: one snide comment from Beau happens to coincide with a less-than-fun day for Jester, and she sort of...loses it. A Little.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre & The Traveler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37
Collections: Anonymous





	never felt like a princess

**Author's Note:**

> this is anonymous bc ive been going back and forth on whether or not to post this for literal Ages because i'm so worried people are going to accuse me of marisha and/or beau hate and also accuse me of saying that artagan did nothing wrong--NEITHER ARE TRUE--but people lack reading comprehension so i've come to expect it. anyway i may un-anon this if it doesn't get bombarded. i'm just paranoid lol. it's rated g, but there is some cursing.
> 
> title taken from seventeen by marina

It startles all of them enough that all conversation immediately ceases.

Jester is standing in front of the dining room table, her chair rolling slightly on the floor. All eyes have shot to her.

“Artagan’s not your dad, Beau!”

Her voice goes all squeaky and high when she’s yelling. Normally it’s cute.

“And he’s not Uk’otoa, and he’s not Caleb’s shitty teacher and he’s not Obann and he’s not--he’s not anything, he’s just himself, and he’s my best friend and--and--”

Jester is starting to cry now, not out of hurt or sadness but pure unadulterated rage. It’s the kind of anger that they’ve seen when one of them is in mortal danger; the kind of anger that sends her rushing into battle with not a second thought to her function as a healer.

“And he’s not evil! And he’s not yours! He’s my friend and he takes care of me and he makes mistakes but so does everyone--and--and he’s never abandoned me--he’s always been there for me--none of you know how lonely I would have been if--if--” She breaks off as a sob swells up to choke her. As she breathes, halfheartedly swiping the tears away with the back of her hand, nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Jester may as well be the only living thing in a room of statues.

“And I’m so sick of you trying to make him look bad or attacking him every time I talk to him! You wouldn’t do that with Caleb!”

“Caleb’s not--” Beau starts to mutter, not looking at her.

“Caleb KILLED people, Beau! And so did you and so did everyone in this room and all of us have done some pretty shitty stuff whether we wanted to or not so you don’t get to judge him like--like he doesn’t matter because he’s not your friend--”

Jester takes one last, shuddering breath and runs upstairs, knocking the chair further back on the stone floor. It scrapes like nails on a chalkboard.

Artagan’s sitting on her bed looking stricken. “Jester, dear--”

She flings herself into his arms before he can finish, and comforted as she is to see him, she can’t help smacking him in the chest a few times. He doesn’t protest. She’s not even entirely sure why she’s doing it. It feels as though her anger has to escape somehow, to something, and it isn’t until she bites into his shoulder that he gently pries her off of him and holds her hands at her sides, like he’s trying to stop a child from hitting him. “Alright. Alright. It’s really okay, Jester. You’re okay.”

“It’s not,” she says, glaring at him. He meets her gaze evenly. “It’s not okay and it hasn’t been okay and--”

“They love you,” Artagan interrupts calmly. “Beau loves you. And she wants you to be safe. And to be quite honest, Jester, I have not given her much reason to trust me.”

“I trust you,” says Jester, and the vehement sincerity in her tone is enough to make him flinch. She says it as though her trust should be enough; as though nothing else matters. A stir of discomfort tightens his throat.

“I know you do, darling. But you’ve known me for years. Miss Lionett’s only seen me through you. All of your friends--well, none of them follow me. None of them know me properly. And I’m not the most, mm, upstanding figure, shall we say, especially upon first meeting.”

“But you’re like me,” Jester says desperately. “You’re--we’re--we’re the same.”

Artagan starts to speak, and then hesitates. Reminding her of the myriad of differences between them does not seem to be, in the moment, the best tactic. And he can hear the hidden hurt behind her words; the insinuation that if Beau and the others think these things about him, they may well think them about her. So instead he says, “But they know you. They know how much you care for them. And they know that you are a force of chaos, like me, but not out of...spite or anger or malice. They don’t know that about me. I am balance, just like you, evening out the karmic scales of the universe...but for all they know I’m more sinister than that. They’ve certainly had enough experiences with similarly...disguised...entities.”

Jester chews this over, and Artagan begins to wipe the tears from her face. It’s nearly reflexive at this point. Unbidden, a memory of a much younger Jester comes to him, waking from a nightmare and calling to him--to him, and not her own mother--to comfort her. He had, of course, been there within seconds.

Not for the first time, he wonders what exactly he did to deserve her.

“I just wish they knew what it was like when I was a kid,” she says softly, and he lets her rest her head on his shoulder.

“How can they, when you never tell them?”

“I don’t--” Jester takes another deep breath. “I don’t want them to--to think things about mama.”

“Well, then, you can’t complain that they don’t know what your childhood was like, now can you?”

Jester groans. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I knowwww.” There’s a few moments of silence where she collects herself, pushing away from Artagan and sniffling hard. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“Well, they...they….”

Artagan waves a hand dismissively. “I’ve been called far worse. I probably deserve worse. And all they want is to keep you safe--how can I be mad at that?”

It takes a moment, but a slow, small smile appears on Jester’s face. He nudges her chin up with a knuckle. “There you go. Don’t be too hard on them now.”

She blinks, and he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> if you know who i am no you don't. i'm kidding you can dm me if you like
> 
> sidenote: artagan pov is REALLY fun??? i may do this more often :)


End file.
